Sacred Place
by elLEn-blue
Summary: The war ended, and Hermione is sick of it. She's over the attention, and needs to escape and heal. She ends up in America, at Xavier's mansion, to be precise. AU from end of 5th book, probably not very accurate on the X-men side as I'm not a big fan. No slash at this stage. T just in case.
1. Arriving inconspiculously

Before the woman suddenly appeared, it was a normal Tuesday morning. The kids were either gabbling away over their cereal, or drinking enough coffee to get their eyes to not only open, but to stay open. In some cases, especially in the older students, who had exams approaching, it was a lot of coffee. The teachers were quietly talking amongst themselves as they kept an eye on their pupils, making sure that nothing too terrible was occurring.

Suddenly, a woman was standing in the centre of the rom. Before anyone could react – probably violently – the woman crossed both her arms so that her palms were flat on her shoulders. She turned towards the teachers table, and gave a short, formal bow towards Professor Xavier.

"I ask for the right of sanctuary in this Sacred Place." Xavier looked up at her, and his hands seemed to reflexively assume the same positions.

"Have you dire physical or mental need for sanctuary?"

"Yes."

"Do you swear on your life that you are not here to harm any inhabitant?"

"Yes."

"Do you promise that you will protect the Sanctuary, with your own life if need be, and you will not harm anybody here through either action or inaction?"

"Yes."

The silent group watched as the two bandied words back and forth. Each time the woman replied, a golden bracelet would appear around her skin. It was visible even through the layers of clothing she was wearing, and glowed softly. By the time the third bracelet had materialised on the woman's wrist, it was as though there was a spotlight beaming out of her.

Xavier looked at the woman, and she tilted her head to the side, quizzically. Abruptly, her expression changed, becoming mask-like, whilst the professor's grew more tense and harsh.

Neither of them moved for at least 3 minutes, though the professor seemed to sag as the silence dragged on.

"Then," he said as he opened his eyes, keeping them on the still glowing figure. "Ms Granger, you are granted sanctuary in this place, and as long as you obey the rules of this house and the rules of the contract, then you are welcome here." The woman bent at the waist, smoothly bowing to Xavier. A beat passed, then they both lowered their arms simultaneously. Logan watched with narrowed eyes as the glow increased, then suddenly vanished. The woman had left as well, as silently as she had appeared.

All was quiet for a few beats – until someone turned to Xavier and started asking questions. The rest of the students joined in as well, seemingly no longer dependent on caffeine for consciousness when it is instead replaced by a mysterious woman who managed to enter and leave undetected.

"Quiet," said the head professor. He was ignored, unintentionally, as everyone was too busy gossiping and speculating about what had just happened – and what would happen next. Xavier gave a significant look to Logan.

Logan stood up, and taking a knife from beside his plate, he used it to create an ungodly din. Everyone winced at the least, and the majority covered their ears; all, that is, except for Xavier, who had retreated into his head. He nodded decisively, then started to speak.

"Students, teachers and our guest. We have an unprecedented situation on our hands; this is not any one individuals fault – "There came a harsh sound from the back of the room, as the woman seemingly tried to stifle a laugh.

"-Though we now have to deal with the consequences of what has occurred. For now, I will tell you what it is vital that you know; anything else I will leave to Ms Granger to elaborate on as she sees fit." The woman relaxed a little, though she was still tensed and ready for fight or flight.

"Ms Granger," Xavier continued, drawing all eyes – curious, intrigued, fearful – back to him. "Is a witch." He hastened, seeing that some were already drawing their own conclusions. "She is _not_ a mutant, despite her endowment." Here the woman snorted again, and some heard her mutter softly "Well, not genetically . . ."

"She is part of a secret community of witches and wizards that have existed for years; they have hidden all signs of their existence to try and avoid a repeat of the Inquisition." Everyone shuddered, knowing that they may well be subject to a modern version very soon, unless there is a drastic change in political thinking. "She is also more than moderately gifted in her own world, and will be teaching everyone about wizarding culture, so that we will know what is normal and what isn't if we run into any magical folk again." Here he cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable with what he had seen in her head. "She is here because her world has recently been part of a civil war, and –"

"Professor, I thank you for the introduction. But none of them will believe you until they observe my 'gifts', or hear my story." The woman had made her way from the wall forwards, until she was standing on the outskirts of the group; still not part of it, but easy to see and hear.

She withdrew from her sleeve a stick – her wand, they all realised – and waved it in a complex series of movements. She didn't say anything, but they all saw the results.

A lectern, the type found in auditoriums appeared in front of her. A map of England also became visible, but this was floating in the air, unsupported by anything. And, they all felt the effect of her final spell – none of them could say anything. "I apologise for spelling your people, Professor, but i felt that it would be easier without any interruptions."

"And they'd be less likely to doubt you story." He said wryly, trying to stifle a grin at the looks of outraged disbelief on the younger student's faces.

"My name is Hermione Granger. I am 18 years old, and the war that your leader referred to – the Second Blood War – devastated out world. The First War is not relevant to your knowledge, though I may touch on it in class time –"She smiled wryly, apparently understanding the emotions her audience was going through, "-as it will help you to understand what happened and some of the long term effects on my world." As Hermione continued to talk, she became more relaxed; that is, no-one could see any obvious signs of tension. "The war was fought because a Dark Lord, the darkest there has been in recorded history, had determined that Muggles – non-magical people – were a filthy nuisance that should be our slaves. To quote him, 'Why should we hide as wolves amongst sheep when we could be the shepard?'" The young woman smiled bitterly, unconsciously rubbing her forearm. Logan caught the movement, and giving the Professor a glance, and seeing the pain on his face, the man determined that Granger must be telling the truth.

"Voldemort also decided that any witch or wizard who was not the offspring of at least one wizarding parent should be killed for "stealing" the wands and powers of decent, up bearing purebloods." Her face twisted into a grimace, she continued to talk, telling them about his twisted mind, and his quest for total pureblood dominance. She vaguely touched on her own experiences, "I had a role in the war, and some of the other side took notice of me, and decided to teach me a lesson.", though she quickly moved on, leaving the Professor with a more worried expression, and Logan with a strong desire to talk to his woman and find out what, exactly, she'd been through.

"Whilst I am here, you will learn about the aspects of the Wizarding world that you will need to know – our hierarchies, government, schools – and I will also teach you in how to fight a wizard. Are there any questions?" She looked around, no longer animated, saw that no-one was saying anything, shrugged and left her lectern. Logan has a sneaking feeling that she knew full well she'd left her spell on so that no-one could ask her anything. He grinned.

"Ms Granger?"

"Please, call me Hermione," she replied quickly, turning and regarding the Professor.

"Hermione, would you be so kind as to remove the Silencing charm you have cast on my students?" Her eyes widened slightly ("Nice acting, witchy,"), and she did a movement with her wand arm. She turned to leave, but stopped when Xavier called after her:

"Will you tell them why you are here, Hermione, or should I?"


	2. Information overload

Sacred Place – 2

Hermione stopped, half turned towards the door; anyone could see that she was tense, even the most unobservant of the students. _Makes you wonder what she's thinking if she's showing that amount of stress_, mused Logan.

"I believe that that has been made perfectly clear, Professor." She said to him, clearly warning him to not mention _it_ – whatever _it_ is.

"Should the people here not know why you claimed the right of sanctuary? After all, they would doubtless like to know what sort of allowances they need to be making for your mental security." Xavier peered at the woman, trying to bend her to his will. She tilted her head, and offered him a _look_. It was the kind of look that had whole paragraphs of disdain in it, the kind that made those with weaker wills start to stammer, and possibly cry, depending on whether it was followed up by a suitably scathing remark.

"That depends, Professor," she said, still examining him as one would a dead fly on the table. "How much mental stress are you willing to subject your students to, all to try and satisfy your meddling in affairs that you _cannot_ understand?" Everyone was shocked; no-one spoke to the Professor like that, not with so much raw rage - unless they were seriously powerful. Or nuts . . .

Abruptly, she turned away from Xavier, and began to talk to the assembled people. "Your Professor has proclaimed that you are to know the . . . details . . . of my life that are relevant. As I told you before, I am 18. I started fighting this war when I was 15. On that day, I saw one of my best friends die; my other best friend witnessed his godfather's death, and then had his mind invaded by Voldemort. He was in unendurable pain, because his mind could literally not cope with the link that he had to Voldemort. A part of him died that night. After that, we had our summer holidays." She smiled, a bitter, angry smile. Logan fought back a shiver at the agony that was contained in that one look. "I had a lovely summer with my lovely parents, and I had a lovely time in the lovely sun," she sing-songed, avoiding looking at Xavier, who was sporting an expression of sorrow. "And then I went back to school." She lost her grin, and seemed to reign back in the manic energy that made her so mesmerising. "Everywhere I went, I saw him – so did Harry. We withdrew from people; 'course, they were doing the same thing, what with the Ministry initiating a highly successful smear campaign against all those who declared Voldemort to be back. We concentrated only on being able to defend ourselves, at first, and back then Harry still talked to people from other houses, still played Quidditch."She ignored the befuddled looks on people's faces, apparently lost in her memories of those days. "But we found all the defensive spells so _easy,_ and we had to make sure that nothing ever went so wrong ever again. We survived school, me, Harry, Neville and Luna. And then we had to save the wizarding world from it's own ignorance, it's utter lack of _any_ preparation, and we had to not get killed whilst the darkest wizard who had ever lived made it his fun pastime to hunt us down to kill us." She stopped, having remembered her audience. She looked sharply over at the professor, and her face flickered. Logan caught a glimpse there, it was gone so fast, but it looked one heck of a lot like hatred. She waved her wand, and the map she'd previously summoned sped over to her. Waving it once more, she coloured the map; there were green, black, silver and gold sections on the map, and several points of flashing white.

"The green sections are areas that we travelled in our quest to kill Voldemort." Most of the map was green, with only parts of Scotland untouched, and some of the south coast. "The black sections were the places that battles were fought." There was a collection of about 20 dots, flashing all around the map, though there was a large cluster around small area in Scotland. "The silver sections were where my team fought personally." Only a couple of the black sections didn't have the silver centres, and there were about 5 purely silver spots, that mainly overlapped with the white flashes. "The gold sections," her voice wavered a bit. She took a deep breath and continued, refusing to allow herself to break down. "The gold sections are where people that I knew personally died." There were far too many on the map. Far too many.

"And the white circles are where we found horcruxes." Hermione's face darkened momentarily, then she resumed her professorial manner; though she was no longer as in control of her emotions. _They're shining through that mask if you look at her_, mused Logan.

Hermione looked at Xavier. "Do you wish for me to continue, Professor?" she asked politely, no vinegar now, merely a resigned, saddened woman who had seen too much. Xavier hesitated, then said "Give them an outline. They don't need to know the details." He eyed Hermione, silently communicating _something _to her.

Hermione's head whipped around. "Ms Grey," she said, icily composed. "I would greatly appreciate it if you did not try and invade my mind." Heads turned, looking at the blushing redhead. She was, however, still looking intently at Hermione. "Firstly, because it is rude." Hermione stared back at Jean, and the battle of wills began. "Secondly," she said, slowly walking over to the other woman, "Because there are, well, security guards that don't take kindly to intruders." Jean flinched, in obvious pain. "Why are the facing inwards?" Jean whispered, her eyes shocked and pained.

"And thirdly," continued Hermione, having reached Jean. She pulled her up, and, looking the older woman directly in the eyes, said "Because there are memories in here that _no-one_ should have to carry around." She pushed Jean down into her seat, and, ignoring her audience, spoke softly: "Did you get past and access anything?"

Jean was sitting there, shocked. "I saw . . ." Hermione looked at her, not rushing her, merely letting her try and come to terms with what had just happened. "There was a locket, and something – smoke, maybe – was coming out of it. It formed a boy, in his mid to early teens. What happened to him?" She pleaded, focussed solely on Hermione. "Why was he so angry? So full of hate?" Jean's voice shook.

Hermione stood, and spoke briskly. "If any of you wish to forget anything that I have just told you – be it acquired through my words, or – " She glanced at Xavier, "- through my mind, I can erase it for you." She turned, looking at each and every one of them. "That is why I claimed the right of sanctuary. These memories I can deal with, over time, but I can't deal with them, idiotic members of the public, and also friends. I had to escape, so that I could recover – body and mind." She glanced at Jean, and she looked sad, but unsurprised. "Anyone who has the ability to look into my head, be it purposeful or not – don't. She caught a glimpse of one of my memories; you don't want more than that." She strode off to the door, leaving them all shocked at how easily this stranger had changed everything. "Oh – I have sworn to harm none here by action or inaction. Because of this, I give you my advice: **Do not start your war**." Hermione stood there, lost in her thoughts. And for the first time, Logan did not see her as an enemy, or as a very helpful asset – he saw her as a very broken girl, who had, more or less, survived a war that had killed hundreds, if not thousands of her people. She had survived, and she hated herself for it.


	3. The writing on the walls

The room was in an uproar, to put it mildly. Everyone was talking at once, trying to figure things out with their friends; what's she seen? What's she done? What'll she teach us? Wonder how many of these Death Eaters she's killed?

Finally, Xavier felt he had endured enough. "Students," he said, his resonant voice cutting through the incessant gabbling, "You have lessons. It is still Tuesday, despite the events that have overshadowed it. Classes will begin in – "He checked his watch, grimaced, and continued "-half an hour. Dismissed." The room emptied, a mixture of slower ones who had yet to realise they still had homework to do, and faster ones who realised that they still needed to shower.

When the students had left, there was only Xavier, Scott, Jean, Logan and Storm. They looked at one another, each trying to digest what had happened – and what to do.

"Well, Professor," drawled Logan, looking strangely serious. "If you'd be so kind as to point me in the direction of the witch's room, I think I'll go have a chat with her." Looks were exchanged. Especially between Xavier and Storm. "As much as I would appreciate you putting yourself in the line of fire –"

"Yeah, verbal and literal," muttered Logan, keeping his eyes on Xavier.

"-We should respect Ms Granger's wishes and give her some space, and time, to adjust to her new quarters." He put an emphasis on 'time' that caused Jean to frown. She was rubbing her forearms, tracing _something_ repeatedly over and over on it. "Do you think she could do that?" she asked, in a quiet and slightly unsteady voice. "Do you think she could get rid of the memory that I, uh -" she wriggled a bit, uncomfortable in what she had done in the heat of the moment. "Stole?" Xavier frowned. She was such an unknown quantity; but she was obviously powerful, and intelligent to have found the Sanctuary, despite it's protected nature. The frown deepened, as he gazed across the room and reviewed what he had learnt. She was intelligent enough to have proven her affidavits to himself and the gathered students – and she had told them not one thing more. "I believe, Jean, that Ms Granger would not have offered if she was unable to do it. Given what she let me know in our exchange," the others recalled those long minutes, when neither had moved, but so much had changed, "She would indeed be able to do it."

"Professor, what was that about? Were you able to find anything relevant out?" Scot burst in eagerly, trying to steer the conversation. "Scott, that woman has told us only the truth tonight. She showed me what I had to know; she is genuine, and deadly serious. And she is a formidable ally, despite her . . . injuries." They exchanged looks. _Have you dire mental or physical need for sanctuary? _Logan shook his head. It must be pretty damn extreme to make a woman that powerful – and proud – admit to needing help.

"Jean," said Storm suddenly, locking her eyes on the redhead, "What did you see?" Jean froze. She continued looking straight ahead, as she answered in an emotionless, dream-like voice. "There was a wall, it was about two metres high, and about the same width. There were sentries on top, and they're holding wands. They're all facing inwards. There are spikes regularly studded through the wall. There's blood stains. Lots of them. Everywhere." Jean blinked, slowly, still looking unseeingly into the distance. "And the ground is mud, and barbed wire, and mines. Other then the sentries, there's no-one around." Jean tilted her ahead up, eyes blankly staring into her own memory. "There's names in the sky. Written in gold. They keep repeating. Ronald Weasley. Sirius Black. Katherine Bell. Albus Dumbledore. And others. They just keep repeating, over and over, rivers of gold flowing forever. There are names on the wall, too." Jean shivered, and shrank in on herself. Scott moved protectively closer, trying to comfort her. "They're spiky, and green. These are bad names. Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix Lestrange. Tom Riddle. Fenrir Greyback. Antonin Dolohov. Peter Pettigrew." Jean gasped, and shuddered, her eyes still wide and staring. The others alternated between looking at Jan and looking at Xavier. Jean shuddered again, and then she looked at the professor. "I have to find her _now, _Professor. Or bad things will happen."

Hermione stepped forwards from the doorway, her steps ringing out on the tile floor. She gazed at Jean, her expression sad and sympathetic. "Come sit with me, Jean, and we'll sort you out." Obediently, Jean walked over to her. The two sat down, cross-legged on the floor. Jean was staring into Hermione's eyes, refusing to look away from the witch. Hermione reached forwards; Scott stood abruptly, before he was stopped by the forceful hand of Logan. "'No harm,' remember laser boy?" he hissed at him, before hauling him back into his seat.

Hermione ignored the commotion, putting her hands on Jean's temples, and softly asking her to close her eyes, and relax her defences. The two went still, though the observers could see Jean's eyes twitching under their lids. After ten minutes, the two relaxed back, no longer touching. Jean observed Hermione for a few minutes, evaluating her. Hermione did the same.

Eventually, Xavier tired of the Mexican standoff, reminded them all that there were classes that needed to be taken. Hermione rose sinuously to her feet, and offered a hand to Jean. Jean gratefully accepted and stood, though she was noticeably wobbly. Hermione saw it too, and grimaced slightly. "You need to go to your room, Jean, and spend the rest of the day there resting and thinking over what I showed you, alright?" Jean nodded wearily, and with Scott's help, made her way from the room. Hermione looked around, saw the other's still there, nodded, and left through the door.

Logan hurried after her, thinking that he could finally corner the witch. But she was already gone.

"Alright, Chuck, I think it's about time that you let us know more about this witch." Logan growled. Storm stayed where she was, observing, but not choosing a side. Xavier looked up at him, unreadable, and sighed. "Very well, Logan. What is it you wish to know?" Logan looked at him, slightly surprised that he was giving in so easily.

Storm was quicker on the uptake, though. "We're going to have to drag every bit of information out of him. _Every_ bit." She looked at Xavier, frustrated, but unsurprised. "Let's start at the beginning. Why did she call this a Sacred Place'?" Logan was impressed. That one had been niggling at him, though he hadn't quite realised it.

Xavier deflated a little. "Do I have your word that what we speak of will not be –"

"Come on now, Chuck," growled Logan, annoyed at the sheer _gall_ of the man to call their loyalty into question. "We aren't idiots; we know when to keep our mouths shut." Xavier evaluated him for a moment – physically and mentally. Logan growled again, but managed to restrain himself from attacking.

"Long before there were any Europeans in North America, a deal was struck. I don't know all the details, but in its basic form, this area is protected. If people meet certain requirements, the owner is obligated to give them food, shelter, and whatever they need to recover from the ordeal they have been through. As the owner of this land, I now have that responsibility. There is no way I could say no to Ms Granger, given –"

"Hermione." The woman in question walked closer to them, her eyes focused on the wheelchair bound man. "I already said, call me Hermione."

_How does she do that?_ marvelled Logan. Whenever she is being talked about, she always manages to appear just before we get to the juicy stuff.

Hermione eyed him, amusement clear in her eyes. "Magic, is how." She told him. _Huh?_ _I didn't say anything –_

"You didn't say anything out loud, Logan, but I've had more than enough practice to be able to read thoughts when i so wish." She stifled a small smile, apparently trying to respect his privacy by not voicing his question to the others, who were now looking at him curiously.

"You're close, Professor, but not quite." She sat down, slightly away from them all, in a position that gave her time to be able to draw her wand, or to be able to run. _She's still thinking as though she's in a war zone,_ noted Logan, surprised by the sadness that tinted his thoughts.

"A deal was struck, but it was with some Europeans. Vikings, to be precise." She ignored the amazed looks being exchanged, as she casually confirmed a theory that had been debated for years. "They were wizards, who were in desperate need of shelter from the storm that had wrecked their fleet of ships – this was in the days before apparating was possible." She wasn't looking at any of them, just looking into the distance as a small smile graced her lips. "They made a deal with the local people; they could stay on their land so long as that land was hereafter protected from all who would do any harm. The Vikings were desperate, so they pretty much agreed to whatever the locals wanted. But they managed to work some terms into the contract. And those were the terms you all heard me agree to. They but that in so that if something of the same happened again, the ships people would be safe for however long it took for their transport to be repaired."

"Then how, exactly, did you find out about it? I doubt that the Viking's records were ever that complete, much less that they survived to modern day, and it's even less likely that such old relics would be in England." Xavier inquired, his eyes sparking at this interesting puzzle in front of him – one that he couldn't cheat at and use his powers to solve.

"I researched it." She said simply, no arrogance in her voice at what would have been a tremendously hard task for someone who was on the wrong side of an ocean, and also could neither read nor speak the language. Hermione glanced at Logan again, and mouthed 'magic' at him. Oh, yeah . . .

"It took a while, especially when I had to find the original landing site, and then figure out where the native's settlement would have been – and then I had to figure out which building was on the Sacred Place. And then I had to figure out how to get away." She stopped, and shivered.

"But enough about me and my woes –big or small." She straightened and looked directly at Logan. "What is it that you so desperately wish to ask me, and that has you trying to decide between tying me up so that I can't get hurt or yelling at me?" she cocked her head at him, that infuriating smile back on her lips.


	4. Training

Logan replied immediately, never one to back down from a challenge. "What happened to you in your war?" Hermione stayed very, very still. _Trying to keep control, I bet,_ Logan mused, watching as she strove to find her equilibrium. "I suppose you need to know the truth; it will help you to understand why I so needed to come here, and why you _have _to avoid your own." She stood up, then, and paced away from them.

She quickly chose a new seat – near a window, back to the wall, and a good 2 metres away – and slipped into it. "It started when I was 11, really," she raised a hand at Logan, stopping him from opening his mouth. "Don't ask me any questions; I'll tell you what I can tell you, and you'll have to be happy with that." She cocked her head then, and looked at Logan. "After all, I'm not the only one with secrets that could change things." She settled down again, closing her eyes and leaving Logan speechless. "When I was 11, I was sorted into the same house at Hogwarts – the premier magical academy in Europe – as Harry Potter. He is the only person who has survived the Killing Curse, and has subsequently defeated Voldemort. Because of this, he's a little bit famous," she deadpanned. "Thankfully, he's managed to keep his ego smaller than a planet, even with girls throwing themselves at him willy-nilly, being hailed as the Chosen One, and regularly needing to test his drinks to ensure that no over-eager fans have slipped him a love potion." Her face cleared itself of what little amusement there was, and it faded into a soft, and extremely sad, nostalgic gaze.

"We were friends, along with Ron –" a soft, melancholy smile, flitted across her face. "- and we had adventures together that should have killed us. Thinking back, we were, really, being trained. Manipulated, sent into situations that easily has the capacity to lead to death, and forced us to become ever stronger, ever better . . . _He _made us the perfect soldiers." Her eyes snapped open, and she glared at Xavier. "He died, you know," she said conversationally, eyes boring into him. "He arranged so that he would be killed be his servant, though we, of course, didn't know it. He, ever the puppeteer, organised his own death for his own purposes and desires." She sneered, an ugly expression. "He manipulated us all; he made us so distraught and furious, that if we'd had any doubts about what was to come, they were gone. It cemented his servant's credentials in the Death Eaters; and it united the Wizarding World into action, into doing something that would actually give it a chance of survival." She looked Xavier up and down, taking in his slightly wary stance, and his apparent calm. "Get onto the front lines, _Professor_, so you can see exactly what is counted by the leaders and generals as "light" losses."

Xavier returned her look, blank faced. "You are losing control, Hermione," he said gently, eyes still cautiously watching the volatile woman. "The sea may rise and fall, but –"

"It always wins." Hermione finished, eyes no longer set in their burning rage. She drew in a deep breath, drawing back in the power that had leeched into the room. Logan shivered. There was so _much_ of it, and that was what had only spilled over from her brief loss of control. _What could she do if she really wanted . . ._

"We had adventures," she said abruptly, apparently continuing from where she stopped before. "We stopped Voldemort from regaining his body, we stopped a creature from terrifying the school, we saved his god-father from being unlawfully soul-sucked –" they all sucked in a breath at that one – it just sounded so dark, and cruel; and so unbearably _wrong_. "And Harry was there when Voldemort _did_ rise again; and he not only survived, he carried word to us. And there Dumbledore manipulated us again. He 'tried' to warn the public; but they turned against him." She snorted. "Albus Dumbledore could have told them all, and they would have listened. But he had thrust his tool into the fire, and needed to make sure that it would not have any weak points, that it would not crumple under the pressure; that it would survive." She leaned her head back, sounding so weary. "And in our fifth year, Voldemort invaded Harry's thoughts and tricked us into leaving the school, where we were safe, and brought us to the Ministry. We were under the impression that Sirius – Harry's godfather – was being held captive there. We were wrong. _He'd_ planted the idea in Harry's mind, being careful to make it seem as though it was actually happening, and as though he didn't know that it was being seen by Harry." She shook her head, her eyes still shut. "He lured us in, got what he wanted, and killed Sirius; as well as indirectly killing Ron." Her voice did not shake, but she stopped talking for a minute. Logan watched her, and watched as her breathing was so even and under control, how her hands were in fists, and the knuckles were white.

"Everything changed. We started training, as I told you. Harry mastered Occlumency – being able to stop his thoughts from being invaded – and moved on to Legilimens – being able to invade. He told me, once, that he was able to master it after Ron died because he knew that Ron would have yelled himself hoarse if he didn't. He, of course, taught me, and we practiced on one another, whenever and wherever, so that we'd always be prepared." She gave a ghost of a smile, and murmured something that sounded like '_Constant vigilance'._ She shook away that thought, and continued.

"We, more or less, started our own duelling club. There was me, Harry, Luna and Neville. The others were just as committed to being prepared; we all knew the risks that we faced, both here and now, and then and who knows where. And after that year of school, where we survived Umbridge, whose official purpose was to spread the 'truth' about how Voldemort was actually dead, whilst her real mission was to get us expelled permanently, and have our wands snapped. We were smarter than her." She stood, and started pacing. "We didn't do what Fred and George did; we kept quiet, and we let her think she was winning." She gave a harsh bark of laughter. "It was actually me who gave us away. I lost my temper." She shrugged, and the others blanched. That didn't sound healthy for this Umbridge woman . . .

"I called her out on her behaviour, and she attacked me." Hermione smirked. "I drew it out for a few minutes, but it was obvious to all that I was the one with the real power. She was more than a little pissed that a mere schoolgirl, 'Miss Bookworm', could not only hold her own, but toy with a senior Ministry representative." She shook her head slowly, smiling dreamily. "I ended it, quite properly, and gave her back her wand. Then I gave her an opening." Her shark's smile came out, grinning at them all. "I turned my back. She sent a hex my way – I'm pretty sure it was an illegal disfiguration hex, but those are harder to identify without sight – and Harry jumped in." She leaned against a wall, and let herself relax against it. "That was nice. Harry had such anger towards her; you know, she gave him detention for the most stupid things, only calling him and me up on it, never anyone else. It wasn't even that he was getting punished; it was that _I _was too." She leaned a bit closer to them, like a child confiding a carefully kept secret. "I think he accepted his own punishment because he blamed himself for Ron; which was silly, as it was obviously _my_ fault." She leaned back, that strangely young look gone.

"And her type of detention was not that nice. She had him write out letters to her friends, using his own blood. She tried to explain it all away, saying that it was how they always did it, and if he didn't like it, there was always more . . . inventive methods." Everyone was white with shock; they were teachers themselves, or at least in charge of a large number of children. For someone to abuse the trust that was placed in them, was tantamount to sacrilege.

And for someone to do it with so much vindictive pleasure . . . it was horrifying.

"We couldn't really stay around long after that. By this stage, Dumbledore had realised that he was going to die soon, and told us about the Horcruxes. We started hunting them down, keeping to forests and places where we wouldn't be recognised. We managed to do the first few without too many hassles, but when we had to break into the Ministry. We managed, more or less, to get the Horcrux we came for – Umbridge had it, pleasantly – but then things got . . . complicated. Harry managed to get away fine, but I was caught."

Her face smoothed out, banishing all emotion, leaving only a blank, blank mask; her robot face, Logan dubbed it. Trying to keep control over her feelings – and her memories. "I was taken by Bellatrix Lestrange to the Death Eaters headquarters. Malfoy Manor, it was. Draco was there – we were in the same year, did you know? – but _he_ wasn't very interested in torturing me."

That was enough for Storm, who had slowly gone more and more pale throughout the narrative. "Torture!" she blurted, eyes fixed on the woman, hands automatically reaching out to comfort her.

Hermione was gone.

She was suddenly on the other side of the room, back against the wall, wand bared and in a defensive crouch. Her eyes . . . Well, they weren't the kind you'd see on a visiting professor. They were filled with anger and hate, and there was a very large chunk of resignation.

"What did Bellatrix do to you, Hermione?" Xavier asked, his tone calm and in control, as though he was not currently being threatened by someone who could probably take them all down if she so wished.

Slowly, recognition returned to Hermione's eyes. She straightened up, and returned her wand to the now visible holster on her right forearm.

She tilted her head, taking them all in, seemingly unaffected by the tension in the room. "I've given you plenty of information for now, Xavier, and if you would use your eyes properly, you could figure it out without my having to relieve a not very enjoyable two weeks."

She turned on the spot and vanished, leaving behind a distressed Storm, a visibly perturbed Professor, and a seriously worried Logan.

**~4~  
**

A/N: If you hadn't realised by now, I don't really do these; I feel they detract from the actual work. I'm going to start making an effort, so I'm therefore going to respond to any suggestions, but it's not very likely I'll incorporate your ideas into the story. Oh - and I'm not going to develop this into a romance; I can't write those, and my perfectionism won't allow me to post substandard work.

Et maintenant: enjoy! :)


	5. Decisions and demons

Discussion happened.

The other teachers were informed of what they had been told, and there was a general outcry. They were all shocked at what the witch – _Hermione_ – had told them. Privately, Logan wasn't that shocked. He knew that it would have had to have been pretty damn serious to make such a strong – mentally, physically, and not to mention magically – woman have to_ run_.

Logan shook his head. Heck, it was probably worse than what she'd told them all. If she could survive everything that she'd been through – and not only that, but know that worse was coming and do nothing to get herself out of the way – than she must have had to have done some pretty awful things. _She has such tired eyes . . . _

"She was _eleven_!"

"- in blood!"

"A week with a psychopathic-"

"Teachers." Xavier gathered attention to him, smoothing away the ripples of sound that had formed their outraged outcry. He was rubbing his temples, looking far wearier than he had for a while. "We, unfortunately, cannot devote our entire attention to Hermione and her problems." There was a dull hum as whispers threaded their way amongst those gathered, but no one decried that truth. "I do believe that the best way she may regain her stability is to keep herself occupied." Not everyone looked convinced, until Jean stepped forward and spoke, clearly and firmly:

"Professor Xavier is right. I had a glimpse –" she twitched, which would have been imperceptible, if she hadn't been holding a glass of water, that subsequently spilled a small amount. "Inside her head. Fortunately, she was kind enough to not only forgive my indiscretion –"

"Curiosity killed the cat, Jean," called out Logan, to the accompaniment of a small round of laughter.

"And satisfaction brought it back, thank you, Logan." She continued smoothly, without even a flicker to indicate that she was still shaken. "-but she allowed me to keep a small glimpse into her history."

Storm, having exchanged a look with Logan, made her way towards the red head, and told her, as gently as possible: "Tell them about the wall, Jean." Scott drew her back against him, keeping his eyes on the weather witch. Jean shuddered, then drew away from him.

"I can't." Shocked silence greeted these words, at the proof that Hermione had the power to remove memories that were obviously very memorable. _If she can take them away with her permission, would she be able to do it without? Or would it be easier on someone who wasn't telepathic? _

Logan shook his head, as he watched the subsequent uproar at the confirmation of her powers.

Abruptly, Storm stood. People quietened just as quickly, watching as her clothing swirled around her, and trying to avoid becoming the subject of her ire. "That girl needs us. We are not going to persecute her, or try and control her, or manipulate her. Given what we have seen and heard, I feel that we should trust her." Scot started to speak, but Storm brooked no interruptions. "Sit down, Scott. I'm not finished." He sat down, though he was visibly mutinous.

Xavier rolled his chair forwards, making sure to keep it between the gathered people and Storm.

"Don't interrupt me, Professor; you'll merely draw me out longer," she warned him, starting to rise off the ground a little. Xavier had the good sense to keep his mouth shut, and regarded the woman silently. "She lived through a _war_. And she not only lived through it, but was on the front lines, and had been actively training for it since she was 15!" Storm shook her head slowly; throughout her little speech, her feet and descended until she was standing on the ground, her clothing once more motionless.

"We leave her alone, until she comes to us." Logan stood, having said his part, and left the room to go and look over the little monster's who had no doubt done something horrible by now. He left behind a silent room, as they each contemplated what Hermione had lived through. Logan shrugged. She was tough; she'd get there.

* * *

Hermione was in her room. It was a perfectly lovely room – if you were fine with a cream and white colour scheme, a lacy bedcover on an opulent double bed, and an equally bland chest of drawers. Hermione frowned; seemed she'd have to use a bit more magic to ensure that everything was properly stored.

Carefully, she sat down slowly on the bed, as though she was expecting it to suddenly break or blow up. It did neither. She looked about the room, then summoned a piece of paper from her practical, yet non-bulky, backpack. There was an Undetectable extension charm on it, as well as a featherweight charm, just the same as she put on every bag she owned. Taking a ballpoint pen from the Ikea desk in the room – _need to get used to Muggle ways again –_ she started to make a list of priorities.

Finished, she examined it. Nodding approvingly, she removed her wand, and subsequently changed her room to her own taste.

Gone was the double bed – in it's place was a single mattress, which she shoved against the wall.

The walls were a muted green – no, they weren't. They were the magical world's equivalent of wall paper. Hermione had enchanted her wallpaper to show an exotic forest, complete with wildlife, as it went about it's day. It was designed so that the animals would react to the amount of sunlight in the room, and subsequently react as they naturally would. She made sure that the alarm charm that often came with it was off – a squawking toucan as an alarm clock? No thanks! – and from that train of thought, moved onto her silencing charms. She crossed to her newly refurbished walls, and removed a well-worn piece of blue chalk from her pocket.

"Blue, for it's grounding powers and serenity," she murmured automatically, watching as her hand smoothly looped around, drawing an even spiral that closed in on itself.

She had learnt this rune, among others, at Hogwarts. The meaning she was taught there was that the rune promoted peace and calm; she had found out, that if she drew it thinking of the right things, then it would act threefold: Firstly, it would mean that whenever she wished it, she would hear the calming sounds of a beach. _The sea may rise and fall, but it always wins._ Secondly, it would prevent any from outside the room from hearing any sound she did not intend for them to hear. And, finally, it would confuse any magic – or mutant powers – that were intended to harm those in the room. Those powers would get sucked into it's eternal curve, going round and round, and, in turn, powering the rune to continue beyond the power she had initially placed in it.

She smiled, happy with the elegant symbol. Next, having eyed the chest of drawers with a cautious respect – furniture could be recalcitrant, even when you weren't in the wizarding world – she shrank it, and placed it in her backpack.

With a smile that looked extremely vengeful, she turned on the wardrobe. She never had forgotten what Harry's Aunt and Uncle had done to him, and, irrational though it was, she had never like cupboards – and their furniturial cousins – much ever since.

With great ceremony, she raised her wand, and flourished it in an underhanded flick with a small twirl at the end. The wardrobe trembled, groaned, then sank back onto it's carved lion's paws. Smirking slightly, she flicked open the door, and was satisfied with what she saw.

She had learnt a great deal from Barty Crouch Jr, including that hiding your secrets in the most obvious place was a very good way to throw people off the track. She no longer had a mere wardrobe; she had a small collection of cupboards that she could flick between depending on which finger she had pressed against the (broken) lock on the door.

She could choose between the original wardrobe, her potion's cupboard (which was on a par to Snape's), her armoury (including protective gear) and a mirror.

The mirror was, technically, four mirrors. They were connected to replicas that belonged to her surviving friends: Harry, Neville, Luna and a spare one, that could be used when needed, and also for it's original purpose.

Satisfied, she closed the doors, and cast a small spell on it. The wardrobe groaned in protest, but it hadn't been exposed to magic nearly long enough to cause such an experienced witch as Hermione to have any unease. After all, it's only when it starts to talk to you that you know you've really got a problem . . .

She sat down on her bed, placing her bag under her pillow, and making sure that the sheathes on her legs were comfortable. Absentmindedly, she began to renew the protection and longevity charms on her clothing, whilst she watched a panda find a clump of bamboo and begin to contentedly, but determinedly, begin to chew it down.

_That's so like Ron . . ._ She shook herself, trying to get rid of the thought. She didn't think of Ron – it only led to what-ifs, and the knowledge that it was really her fault. And then she had to train for hours to get the image of his body burnt out of her thoughts; those tentacles . . .

Shivering, she pulled the covers up over herself, and forced her breathing to slow, as she retreated to the inside of her head. Once there, she began to work on her mental defences; they had been breached twice today, and her soldiers hadn't immediately repelled the assaults. Sighing, she began to run through what she could do to improve her protection, not realising that she had slipped into her mediation mindset, and was, once again, spending what passed as 'sleep' for her making sure that she'd would not be hurt again.

* * *

A/N: Sorry I was a day late, but I had a tournament on Saturday, then an all-day school thing on Sunday, adn I had to get a couple of internals in as well! Exams are starting to approach, so I'll try and stick with my once a week update, but it may well become a bit sporadic as they approach.

Thanks for reading, and my reviewers, I repeat: any questions, let me know, and I'll try and ecplain. Though some things I'm going to leave until later, as I want to mkae this an interesting fan fic . . .


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